The Bear and the Swallow
by NeroTheBear
Summary: A Nord man of immense proportions desires to find love in his life and decides to follow the cryptic path that Mara had set out for him. He picks up a new friend with an affinity for unconventional magic with whom he will share his adventure. Soon, he begins to realise that his love interest is right beside him... [M/M], Rated M for content in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Journey Begins**

Bervard's POV

He looked up at the priest of Mara, Maramal, who was gazing into the little fire at the foot of the the statue to the Goddess. The Redguard dressed in the yellow robes prayed on his knees with tiny gifts and offerings to the paragon of love scattered around him. Bervard glanced back and forth between the preacher and the flames, nervous for the verdict of his plea. Soon, all the torches in the temple flitted and dimmed.

He grasped his axe in panic as he heard the soft whisperings of a feminine voice, ambiently permeating the hall, yet he could not discern the words even though they were clearly in the common tongue. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like the lips of the priest were mimicking the airy verbiage of the... woman. Maramal's head tilted back and Bervard jumped back in fear; Maramal's empty, iris-less eyes, stared back at him. Maramal chocked for a few seconds, breathless, before all become normal again; his eyes and the lights came back and the otherworldly voice faded away.

Standing back up, Maramal calmly looked at Bervard with a smile, his demeanour showed no sign of distress as to what has just occurred and said, "My friend, Mara smiles upon you. The Lady of Love gives you this; _'Your friendship lies with the problems under your skin, your attraction in the shallows of something greater and deeper, your romantic embrace in your darkest hour. Go, child, travel on the coming morrow and you'll find what you desire.'_ And she also added, that you must stop hiding it. Show that you are sure of your love, to be sure that you have her support. I presume she means that you ought to wear he amulet."

_'You presume wrong, friend.'_ Bervard thought in melancholy. With a sigh, he bid the priest goodbye and left the holy temple. He trudged in the dark to The Bee and the Barb to get some food and a good night's rest. _'Travel on the coming morrow?'_ he mused, _'Travel to where? I've been to other lands and still in my 29 years of life haven't found the right one.'_ Upon entering the tavern, he was greeted by the aroma of warm food and smoke. Soon enough, the Argonian keepers got him two large slices of salmon steak, beef stew and a bottle of mead. In good Nord fashion he ate everything with gusto; being a solid 6'7" tall with possibly the broadest build in all of Skyrim Bervard had to keep himself well-fed. He was dressed in antique Nordic armour, carved into the semblance of a bear that he himself had the pleasure of forging along the smith of the Skaal of Solstheim. A bear armour for a bear of a man. On his hips, he carried two massive axes and a round shield and a crossbow were slung on his back. He had fond memories of that place, even if he had to go there for all the wrong reasons. He wasn't always this massive; sure, in his youth he was a big kid but when he reached adulthood he topped out at 6'1", but when he contr-

"Get outta 'ere you imp!"

Looking to the source of the commotion, he found Dirner, a lousy skinny Nord fella, swinging a half-empty bottle around and picking on a fellow tavern guest. His target was a short man, by all human standards, with brown hair tied in a ponytail and the faintest trail of facial hair around his lips and chin meaning he either keeps himself clean-shaven or is several years younger than Bervard. His stature wasn't impressive either; he looked to be of a slim build though it was unclear whether he was skinny or fit and lithe. His clothes were peculiar. He wore a dark blue gambeson with thick fur-lined leather boots. On top of this, he wore some sort of robes and a cloak both of blue-grey colour clasped together via a silver swallow. The only non-blue piece of apparel that he had were his gloves which themselves were brown. A pale gold medallion hung from his neck with a large soulgem embedded into it. Finally, he had large satchel on his right hip slung from his left shoulder. All along the leather strap, the were small sheathed daggers, but as far as Bervard was concerned, they would be too petite to be of any use in combat. From his tan, it could be assumed he was of an Imperial descent which explained the insult. That or it was aimed as a derogatory to his height. Both?

Dirner wasn't deterred by the foreigner's unimposing figure either, especially in his semi-inebriated state. When the stranger just scoffed and tried to continue his food, Dirner grabbed it and smashed it into the Cyrodilli's face. The stranger, strangely, didn't punch or otherwise retaliate. Rather, he got up and politely requested that Dirner buy him new food. When Dirner refused, the man simply asked that the innkeepers go ahead and said, "Go ahead and make another salmon. I'll get the gold in just a minute." He then turned to Dirner, took a step back to put some distance between them and raised his fists. His confidence was impressive, but Dirner surprised everyone when he pulled out his rusty iron sword.

"Like as if I'll get 'nto a figh' wid and imperial scum like you!" he proclaimed and took a swing at the brave stranger. Bervard thought this would be a good time to step in; the fight was clearly unfair and dishonourable, not to mention that attempting murder is illegal. He didn't get far though, the strange man's speed was awe-inspiring and sufficient to keep him alive. Twice did Dirner try to hit the Cyrodilli man and twice he failed. With his third attempt, Bervard realised he's been standing still and now the innocent imperial was going to suffer for it.

That is, until a violet, otherworldly ghost blade blocked the deadly strike and deflected it to the side. All the eyes were on the young mage who had summoned a fiery sword from Oblivion. Now, armed and with the element of surprise on his side, he pressed his advantage; he wasn't anything special as far as swordsmanship went. Bervard could fight better with one hand tied behind his back whilst blindfolded but it was more that enough to overpower Dirner who, disarmed and with a sword tip to his throat, yielded and handed over a handful of Septims to pay for the new meal. Bervard decided to congratulate the stranger on how well he handled the situation and for the mercy and restraint that he displayed. Just when everything seemed to be returning to normal, Dirner lunged at his opponent with his sword glinting in the air above his head.

He was about to strike down the insolent foreigner who just extorted money out of him. Unfortunately for him, a huge paw caught his arm mid-air. He turned and paled when he found it was none other than that brute Bervard. Bervard loomed over the transgressor, like he loomed over everybody else, and picked him up by the hem of his collar before slamming him into a nearby wall. "You lost, fair and square, and even that's a stretch seeing how you cheated. Try this again and you'll have a fight with me." he growled into Dirner's face. He then proceeded to drag the shivering coward and threw him out through the door.

Kellian's POV

A grunt from behind turned his attention back to the petty loser whom he had hoped he taught a lesson. Much to Kellian's chagrin the Nord seemed to have missed the part where he lost and was charging at him again. Just as Kell's hands started glowing with magic to strike the fool down for good, a beast of a man grabbed the lowlife and roughed him up good before he effortlessly tossed the perp out of the tavern. His saviour (though he didn't need saving) brought his food over to the bar at which Kellian was sitting and smiled. From up close Kell got a good look at his new company; the man was _**huge**_, a foot taller than him and staggeringly buff. His shoulders were as far apart as Kell's legs were long, to say that he was barrel-chested would have been like comparing an oak tree to a pine or aspen and he walked on two legs so thick they could rival a horse in power. He had a bushy but well maintained beard with long hair sweeped back. His face was round but strong in stark contrast to Kell's sharper angled features. When the giant sat down, Kell could not help but compare how much larger the man's hands were without much having to be said about his arms. Put simply; this bear of a man outclassed even the biggest Orc Kell had the opportunity of encountering by a vast margin. To his relief however, the man smiled and struck up a conversation, "You handled yourself pretty well there. Must say, I didn't think that a magic user could fight with a melee weapon."

_'By the Divines, his voice is a literally deeper than a baritone!'_ he though as the man's voice reverberated through him, giving him the shivers. Collecting himself quickly, seeing as the bear was expecting an answer, he said, "Well, to be fair I can't. It's simply not that difficult to fight an angry drunk. The name's Kellian Flavius. Kell for short."

"Bervard." came the simple gruff response. They continued eating in silence for a half a minute before Kell decided that it would be impolite to not maintain the conversation.

"Thank you for looking out for me. I though I'd dissuaded him already."

"What, Dirner?" the Bervard scoffed, "That maggot never learns his place unless you actually beat him unconscious."

Kell found himself chuckling, "You'd probably have no difficulties doing that, eh?"

Bervard only smiled.

They enjoyed each other's company for the next hour before they got tired and disappeared into their own rooms. Kell ended up lying in bed and falling asleep very quickly. Unbeknown to him, just two rooms away, Bervard lay awake with two things on his mind; the handsome man he just met and tomorrow's "travel" that he will have to undertake...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: First Sign of Trouble**

Kellian's POV

He strapped the bags with food onto his horse and made sure that they're secure. It was early morning, with the Sun only just beginning to peep over the horizon, finally bringing some light to the world and rendering the hovering Candlelight wisp unnecessary. Kell had always been an early riser so he was almost alone when he walked through the city; a handful of vendors were just setting up their stands and the guards where changing shift but otherwise nothing disturbed him either inside nor outside the city walls.

_'It is darn cold however.'_ he thought bitterly. _'I can see my breath steaming in front of me.'_

He was looking over his map to plan out the best path for his journey when the gates opened and loud thudding footsteps alerted him to the fact that he had company. And it was none other than Bervard, his friend from yesterday. He carried a full knapsack filled with food. At first he didn't see Kell behind his horse, so the giant lumbered over to a horse and saddled the beast (which Kell pitied if it was going to be carrying such a man) before hoisting himself onto the animal. Kell noticed the man nose twitch a bit before he turned to face Kell himself and beamed. "Kell?! Whaddaya doing here? You off to somewhere?" he asked.

Kell sat on his steed's back to better talk with Bervard face to face, "Yes actually. I have to traverse half of this frozen province and get to Falkreath and deliver a letter to its Jarl. Where would you be off to?"

"To Falkreath too." lied Bervard. In truth he had no idea where he would go to as per Mara's instructions, so he might as well accompany Kell on his journey.

"That a pleasant surprise. We can travel together. Its safer that way." replied Kell. He set off on his horse, at a somewhat high trot, leaving Bervard lagging behind.

"Why? You worried that you'll need saving again?" joked Bervard.

"No, I meant it would be safer for you."

They traversed on through the Rift's gorgeous terrain. Bervard having grow up in the region was somewhat less awestruck but Kellian could not stop himself from gazing around absorbing the beauty of the land. He adored the golden canopy above his head with streaks of sunlight permeating through the gaps between the leaves drowning them in an orange glow. He glimpsed animals between the white tree barks running away from them as they approached. Eventually, the forest tunnel around them dispersed on one side, granting them a view of the lake that graced land. They enjoyed travelling in silence for the longest time until they came upon a fork in the path; Kell being determined to take a shortcut decided they'll travel down the dirt path through the woods as opposed taking the winding cobbled road. The leaves crunched under the hooves of their steeds but due to the quiet nature around them sounded artificially loud.

"Kell, perhaps we should turn back." Kell turned back to look at his friend; Bervard was glancing around nervously, his nose twitching and sniffing the air, the man was tense and hurried his horse along to Kell's side. "There's no animals around here, not even birds. Something isn't right." With his attention turned to Bervard, he didn't see the remain of a human skeleton he was passing by.

But rather than take him seriously, Kell found his odd mannerisms quite amusing and continued to watch as he unslung his shield; seeing as he carried it on his right arm, Kell deduced that Bervard must be left-handed. Then in a fraction of a second, Bervard's face turned to stare right behind Kell and with supernatural speed that should not have been possible for someone of a size as cumbersome as Bervard, his hand shot out and pushed Kell of his horse with such ferocity that Kellian flew a handful off feet away. Bervard then jumped of his horse with a thunderous thud and quickly planted himself in front of Kell, raise his shield and two more arrows bounced off his shield; the first one was embedded several feet behind them and if not for Bervard's reflexes would have been embedded in Kell by now.

Bervard's POV

_'I'll tell him "Told you so" after this is over,'_ mused Bervard. He unsheathed one of his axes to prepare to fight. There were several bandits up the craggy hill firing arrows at them, this would be a problem given their position. A crackling noise behind him drew attention to Kell who now glowed green with a layer of skin, which somewhat resembled iron in a certain light from the right angle. Kell looked to him and said, "Get ready to charge forward."

Bervard stared at him incredulously. "Are you mad!? Uphill? Do you know how risky th-"

"No, we're not going to climb uphill." Kell cut him off. "I'll handle that problem, you just charge forward". Bervard was rightfully sceptical. He could not fathom how Kell wanted to solve the problem of the bandits being on a higher elevation but an arrow that hit his shin and bounced off harmlessly thanks to his boots. Not exactly trusting Kell's bizarre idea, but not having a better one himself, he nodded and prepared to dash ahead regardless of the danger. His armour could take the beating if it came to the worst. And so he started off, shield first in the direction of their foes. Kell was just two steps behind him, using Bervard as cover, with glowing hands. The spell he was casting would shock everyone.

With his peripheral vision, he noticed he ran through an azure ring and his previous surrounding disappeared. Whereas before he was surrounded by trees, he now stood atop a small plateau overseeing the area. The bandits had their backs to him, still searching for their targets which were below them a second ago. He turned back just in the knick of time to see Kellian _fucking floating above the ground_ through the same azure ring within which he could still see the trees that they were standing next to just a moment ago before Kell closed the rift. Kell summoned a demonic blade and flew off to the nearest bandit who now saw them and raised the alarm.

Bervard in turn faced off the two bandits in front of him. They drew their primitive armaments -iron sword and an iron axe- to fight Bervard but very fast found themselves outmatched by the veteran. The first on had the absurd that he could that he could block Bervard strikes with his sword so as soon as he raised his weapon for defensive purposes, his arm crumbled under Bervard's vast strength and his axe buried itself in the poor lad's head. When the second fool tried to get a hit on him, Bervard simply slammed his shield into the inferior man who fell backwards on the ground. Still dizzy and disoriented, he could not fathom what was looming over him when Bervard brought his boot down with ferocious power and crushed the sod's skull.

His instincts however, forced his attention elsewhere as two more vagabonds exited a small cave and held raging elements in their hands. Bervard always hated fighting wizards; a substantial portion of their magic would always get past his defences and ruin his equipment. At this moment, Kell flew to his side and took position ahead of him. Quickly, the outlaw mages barraged them with firebolts and lightning bolt which Kell halted with a wide ward.

Bervard turned to his compatriot asking, "How do we tackle those guys?"

Kellian however, casually replied with, "We aren't. They're already dead." With that, he kept one hand sustaining the ward, with the other he opened another azure rift behind them although not sufficiently large for Bervard to march through. In it he could see the backs of he two twisted wizards who were still launching destruction spells at them. Bervard watched as Kell's free hand started emanating an orange mist and several of the daggers on his chest levitated out of their sheaths; they turned to point at the portal and with a flick of his hand Kell telekinetically shot them into the backs of the unsuspecting foes. They seized up and fell face first to the floor, with blood pouring out of them. Kell simply summoned his knives back and put them back in their place after giving them a little clean.

They marched into the cave and finished off the last few bandits.

~~~~~~Later that day~~~~~~

By the time they picked through all the remnants of the fight to find meagre loot, mostly gold, and dragging their panicked horses back, the sun started setting and they decided to sleep here that night. Whilst Bervard was setting up the fire and the cooking pot, Kellian was drawing strange little symbols on the ground at the cave's entrance. When Bervard enquired about those, Kell explained, "They're basic runes which can be infused with some magic so as to generate some sort of effect. You'll often see those on the side of weapons enchanted by experts. I'm simply using some rudimentary runes to keep out the cold and to warn me if we get any uninvited guests. Now, I'm not proficient in this art so the magic will wear away from them by tomorrow morning."

"I thought enchantments are permanent?" asked Bervard.

"They are, but only when the magic infusing them is a soul. This is why not all enchanted goods will have any visible markings. But of course weapons need to be recharged to maintain their power. True masters of the craft, however, can infuse the soul into the runes to make a magical effect permanent, even on a weapon, albeit at the cost of its power. This removes some of the enchantment's magnitude."

"You're knowledgeable on magicks, aren't you?" Bervard found this a bit disconcerning; from his experience mages tended to mess up and cause severe problems when they experimented with complex magic. Then his thoughts turned to another mystery. "How old are you anyway to be this skilled in spellcasting?"

Kell sat down by the fire to ready himself for supper before deigning to reply, "As of two moon cycles ago, I'm 22 winters of age." Seeing the shock on Bervard's face he added, "I know, most people have this reaction."

_'As they should!'_ thought Bervard. _'You've barely passed adulthood and you put most mages I've faced to shame. For goodness sake, I thought I was young for a warrior at 29 but this is ludicrous.'_

Rather than inquiring further, Bervard opted to just eat the rest of his food. He noticed that Kell watched in disbelief as Bervard ate easily thrice the amount he had on his plate. They fell asleep later, with a near-full moon blessing them with just enough light as the fire was dying.

**AN: So here is that. I'm not yet sure what my update schedule will be; don't be surprised if its irregular and if it slows down somewhat. However, it would be of a TREMENDOUS help if you guys would write reviews. Thx.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Out of the frying pan into the Fire**

Bervard's POV

_'Fucking vampires. Why's it always gotta be vampires?'_ he thought bitterly. He despised how those bloodsucking scum could move faster than ordinary people (not that he couldn't) but their very first target were the horses he and Kell were riding. Not only could the two not escape, but now they had no reliable mode of transport until they could purchase some steeds at another settlement. The only good thing that happened that day was that the monsters gt an unpleasant surprise when the pair was able to gut them; Bervard with his combat skills and Kellian with a strange variation of Restoration magic. Bervard's eyes still hurt from when Kell produced a blast of golden light which flung the closest vampire away with burnt skin. The vile creatures were dead.

This however did not singlehandedly improve his mood.

They now had to unceremoniously travel by foot. The Throat of the World loomed over the ravine they were meandering through, the shortest and most dangerous path between the Rift and Falkreath holds. Whereas their horses previously served as pack mules, the pair now had to deal with their supplies on their own. Here once more, Kell proved himself of immense use: he opened a minor rift to a "foldable dimension" of his wherein he could store possessions within which they could store away most of the stock that their horses previously carried.

_'Doesn't change the fact that we still have to crawl all the way to Helgen.'_

"Dear Divines would you stop growling and grumbling to yourself!" butted in Kellian, "I get it, I'm unhappy with our circumstances too but must you be so vocal about it?"

He glanced to his friend in mild fury. They've been set back by whole two days! Maybe Kellian wasn't under a time constraint but unbeknown to him, Bervard was. He really needed to get to Falkreath within the next three days...

They continued downhill along the path, flanked by tall pine trees and aspens dusted with frost. The cobble path meandered between boulders and hills until they finally came across the site of Helgen's fortified towers. Filled with relief, they sped up slightly, eager to find themselves among civilisation again. The guards -whom were Imperial soldiers for some reason- opened the gate for them. Two things attracted their attention; the whole village was crawling with Imperial troops and the delegation of three Thalmor agents. There seemed to be a strange commotion in the plaza. Bervard took the initiative and following the stench of the stables, led them towards to village's eastern side. When Kell saw where they were headed he asked, "You're familiar with Helgen's layout?"

Confused, Bervard answered that no, he wasn't.

"Then how come you've known where the stable was without asking anyone?"

_'Oh shit. How do I explain that?'_ silently panicked Bervard. His heart was beginning to race and all words were stuck in his throat. _'He can't kno-'_

"Alright! Get these prisoners out of these carts!" ordered a female voice. It was an officer of the Legion, if her armour was anything to go by. The prisoners she was referring to were sat scrunched up in carts; their uniform denoted their allegiance to the Stormcloak rebellion. In the very last cart, Bervard's keen eyesight spied a regally dressed Nord who was gagged. Having met the man once before in his life, Bervard immediately recognised the Empire's catch. _'So we've lost the war this quickly?'_ he somberly thought.

Kell on the other hand, was less interested in the prosecution of the insurgents and rather focused on finding the stablemaster in the crowd of onlookers.

Kellian's POV

_'It wasn't a difficult question, Bervard. Why would you close up so suddenly?'_ he wondered as he meandered around the gathering of curious villagers, _'Is he hiding something? Sure he doesn't have to confess all of his secrets to me, but what on Nirn is so important about not telling how he found the stables?'_

The masses cheered and booed as the first Stormcloak's head was lopped off. Without a trial?

_'The state really has degenerated now. Can we not even follow our own basic Laws anymore?'_ he thought bitterly. _'Such transgressions of power were punishable by death back in the Septim dynasty.'_

A petrifying roar tore through the skies, shaking each citizen down to the core. As another Stormcloak soldier was pushed down to the chopping block. At that point, something caught Kell's eyes. A black creature of immense proportions flew over the mountain and turned towards the settlement. As it neared, its visage became ever more petrifying. Once it landed on the tower in the town centre, all hell broke lose. Whilst all the villagers began running for their lives, Kell was transfixed by the beast; the dragon was a good twenty feet in height when it straightened out its neck. It was covered in inky scales that trapped all sunlight that touched them. Along its neck and back, terrifying ridges protruded and its maw showed fangs of equal deadliness.

Kell was frozen in place until Bervard's arm wrapped itself around him and pulled him away from the monster's fiery breath. He let himself be carried away a distance, until Bervard pushed him to the wall. The man's face was staring at him intently. "Kell? Kell. Listen here! We need to get out of here!"

Still somewhat in shock, he mumbled out, "The horses. We were supposed-"

"There are no horses!" interrupted Bervard, pointing to a burning stable. A meteorite had obliterated it completely, with a horse's severed head lying a few feet away from a smouldering corpse. "Get us out of here! Please!" That last one held some note of desperation in his voice.

Getting a grip of himself, Kell turned to the wall behind them. He placed his hand on it. With a few breaths to calm himself, he let magic flow to his palm and an azure ring formed right on the wall's surface. The portal was not one of great distance; the other side was literally the other side of the fortifications. They stepped through to escape the hellhole behind them. Just at the last moment as the ring was closing, Bervard was gleaming in relief that they put their doom behind them, but a stray meteorite fell from the skies and hit the battlements of the wall behind them. A chunk of the stones broke away and hit Bervard head. His helmet was flung off his head and he collapsed. Would have hit the ground face first too if Kell hadn't caught him, with great effort.

_'I though I was being hyperbolic when I thought he was four or five times my mass. It seems I wasn't far off.'_

Laying his compatriot down gently, he set to checking him over. The bear was alive, merely unconscious. A quick healing spell stopped his head from bleeding and eased the concussion. However, with what could only be compared to Oblivion melding with Nirn thanks to that dragon, which was still around and slaughtering, Kellian knew he had to get them out of danger. Carrying Bervard was out of picture. Maybe the bear could carry him without breaking a sweat, but the vice-versa could not be said. Instead, Kell concentrated on casting a variant of an old spell his master taught him and Bervard's body slowly rose up from the dirt. Summoning his compatriot's helmet, he dragged the floating body with him away from the devastation occurring in Helgen.

Bervard's POV

He was in nirvana. His limbs felt weightless, akin to being submerged in water but without the water pressing onto you. In peaceful darkness, Bervard floated carefree. It was something he could get used to. But not to the nagging feeling at the back of his head. It had recently become stronger.

In fact, it was slowly becoming unbearable.

His eyes opened and the pain set in violently. Crying out, he clutched his head. Soon, he felt a presence over him; one which smelled and sounded familiar. Reaching out to the being, he felt them grip his hand and pushed it down back to his side, whilst saying something. Shortly after, a glow of magic obscured Bervard's vision, but the pain and dizziness let up, and he was back to his senses. The warm aroma of food invaded his nostrils and his heart started pumping faster. Before he himself could make a sounds, his stomach groaned so loud he wouldn't be surprised if someone on the other side of the country had heard. Looking around, they were in a narrow cave which went somewhat deeper but to push through the crack in the rocks would have been difficult for Kell; impossible for Bervard. A warm fire illuminated their abode as it was quite dark outside now. Bervard's hunger only rose and his senses sharpened. When offered a bowl of rabbit and carrot stew (oh the irony) he devoured it voraciously. Then a second serving, and a third. This in itself wasn't unusual, what concerned him instead was that he couldn't be satiated. Rather, as he stared at the roasting pheasant breasts, he licked his unnaturally long and sharp teeth and didn't wait for it to finish cooking, and to Kell's bewilderment bit right into the mostly raw meat. Despite the fact that it was uncooked, it was _so_ tender and rich in his maw.

"My my, I should have made more food. I know it's been two days since Helgen, but I didn't think that even you could have such an appetite." Kellian laughed it off. But those words stopped Bervard right in his tracks. _Two days since..._

_'This would mean tonight is the third night since we were in the mid-Hold vale.'_ Bervard paled at the thought. He could feel his hands being constricted by his gauntlets. Taking those off, to his terror, he found his hand slowly growing, becoming covered in hairs, his nails were turning into claws.

Turning to Kell, he growled out "Tonight is the night of a full moon?!"

Clearly perturbed by Bervard's behaviour, his heavier breathing and now the animalistic growl which he barely registered as speech, Kell was horrified when Bervard's face gradually contorted into a much broader with his mouth and nose elongating into a snout. The half-turned man-beast stumbled towards him and grabbed him by his shoulder before shoving him into the crevice between the rocks further in the cave.

"Stay there! Don't leave!"

This wasn't Bervard's voice. Whereas the big guy typically exuded an aura of confidence with a deep gently rumbling bass voice, now his compatriot's utterances were guttural and gritty and (impossibly) yet deeper. From his tight safe haven, he saw as Bervard gripped at his armour, letting it fall to the floor leaving him in his cotton clothes. The combat apparel was becoming too small for him. Before Kell's very eyes, Bervard's back broadened to inhuman proportions, he grew over a foot taller, being at the cusp of eight feet tall. His beard and hair merged into his torso, replacing it with fur. His fingers and toes contracted into his paws and his knees cracked as his legs' bones reshaped themselves. His arms and legs and neck thickened to allow him the strength to carry his own weight; this put Bervard's human physique to shame. Bervard's screams turned to a powerful roar of a primal beast. There, in the light of the campfire, just a few steps away from Kell amongst shreds of clothes, stood a wall of muscle and aggression, a prime predator capable of tearing his limbs of with ease, his jaw capable of crushing stone. There, stood a true _**werebear**_.

**AN: So I know I was gone for a longer while; we went on holiday to see family and I had no access to the internet. And even when I was back, this chapter underwent several severe rewrites in my minds before I typed it out. Nut I'm back now.**

**Also, to encourage some responses from the readers I came up with an idea: send me some ideas for Kell's spells! PM me to suggest how Alteration/Illusion/Conjuration/Restoration could be used in unorthodox manners to form unique magical techniques! Remember though; no destruction and they have to reasonable and not overpowered. Think more of utility and versatility or tactical use rather than outright might.**

**Aside from that, just review. Review, review, review. Nothing motivated more than reviews.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Bear

Kell's POV

No amount of study, practice or even experience of life's dangers could ever have prepared him for the terror that gripped him now. No prior learning would have ever stood up to the test of having to face the real beast in the flesh. The animal of Oblivion breathed heavily before sniffing the air and turning its head towards Kell. Its frame blocked out the moonlight coming in through the cavern's mouth yet from that silhouette two eyes gleamed more golden that coins and bore right into him as he cowered in the crevice. Base instincts kicked in and Kell shuffled back right as the monster lunged at him. But thank the Divines Bervard had the brains to shove his companion into the narrow space; for now even with its awesome power, the werebear could not tear through the stone. Even as it thrashed about in its fury, maw contorting in rage and spitting slobber over the walls, the bear's claws could not reach Kell in his safe haven. Although, to be fair it wasn't far off. His former companion atempted all sorts of positions to squeze through but his bulk would not permit him so. Yet this did not deter the beast for a good hour; an hour during which it permanently scarred the stone of Kell's hiding spot and his sanity. Not for one second could he turn away or close his eyes; the mass of strength and ferocity incarnate would not let him let his guard down. Not until it tired (metaphorically, not physically, you dummy) of lashing out at a prey out of his reach, did the werebear turn to the wider world and ran into the woods to carry out its bloodthirsty rampage.

All Kell could do was listen tantatively to the roars and howls in the night. All he could do was hear the wails and bleats of an array of forest dwellers ending prematurely.

_'Bervard... he... he... I cannot believe that he would keep this a secret. He bloody knew that should he turn he would kill me!'_

The night carried on, the streaks of moonlight shifted from one side of the cavern to the other, providing less and less light for Kell. He would not dare however, relight the campfire or cast himself a wisp of candlelight in fear of attracting attention to his abode. And as the low temperature started creeping in, he telekinetically summoned his bedroll to him to keep himself warm.

And the night carried on. His eyes felt ever more heavy, his vision ever more dim.

~~~~~_Hours later_~~~~~

The melodic chirping of birds rang out throughout the woods accompanied by the aroma of dew on the trees, indicating another morning in the Hold of Falkreath. The rays of sunlight pierced through the evergreen canopy and blessed the dark burrow where Kell rested with light. His eyes opened, groggily taking count of his surrounding. The bones around his joints popped after a night's sleep scrunched up in a crack in the cave. He tried getting up but froze when he heard something shuffling in the cave. Whatever it was seemed to have heard him too. A great shadow picked up Bervard's backpack and ran off, suprisingly quietly, racing down the road to get away from him.

Bervard's POV

He couldn't stay there. He couldn't look Kell in the eyes after last night. What he remembered of it. What he remembered of his attempt to take Kell's life. The hunger that grew in the pits of his stomach, how sweet an aroma Kell gave off and how he lunged at his travel-buddy before the young Imperial took cover in the crevice. Turning his head to look back, knowing that the young wizard might chase him, he dashed into the woods. As shameful as it was to admit, his beast blood helped his reflexes and gave him a phenomenal ability to navigate through the wilds.

_'He'll never forgive me this. He barely made it into the safe spot.'_ Just by a fallen tree, he spotted the remains of a deer's carcass, fresh blood and limbs lying around, _'He could have been another innocent person to end up like this because of me.'_

He could still taste some iron in his mouth; the odd metallic flavour of blood. Images flashing to how he tore up the denizens of the forest in his frenzy. One vision even had him snapping up a vixen in his jaws before crushing her effortlessly and swallowing her whole, followed by her litter of little kits. Those mere flashes of carnage would be enough to render a man lesser than him (almost every single one) sick.

_'That's what I attempted, even only half-turned. That's how I could have mauled another person.'_

He started slowing down, now that he could analyse his environment and make a plan as to where to go next. He'd have to start moving up North, out of the Hold to-

An azure ring formed right in front of him.

Taking a few pensive steps back, Bervard gripped the axe at his hip ready to confront Kell as the man stepped out of the portal. The Imperial had a stern look on his face as he crossed his arms, awaiting that Bervard explain himself. Still unsure of whether the mage will attack him or not, Bervard's grip on the axe did not loosen.

"Look, Kell...' he began,"No one has to know. We can just walk our seperate ways and never confront each other again. I'll never again be a threat to you."

For a good while Kellian did not respond. Rather he just kept glaring at the Nord, making him feel uneasy. Confusingly, he didn't give a single sign of contemplating the idea but neither did he exude any threat. Nothing that Bervard could smell or pick up on with Hircine's survival instincts. Instead, after an agonizingly long wait, Kell finally looked around before spotting a relatively small mossy boulder and proceeded to just sit on it. He looked at Bervard and nodded, saying "Make yourself comfortable. We need to talk."

Treading slowly to seat himself comfortably on a nearby fallen tree, never once letting his eyes off the mage, before plopping down audibly, his muscles tense and ready to pounce back into action at a second's notice. Once again, an awkward silence befell the two and preferring to remedy that, Bervard decided to be the first to speak, again. "When I attacked... Look, I promise I didn't mean to-"

"I know you didn't mean to turn with me around. You kept saying you needed to get to Falkreath before a full moon which in hindsight is now very understandable. You wanted to prepare. At least I'll presume you didn't intend on causing carnage in a population centre." Kell's voice held no quaver to to it; he meant business. "You're right, no one has to know of your predicament. But in the future, I'd prefer it of you warn me of any curses you carry."

Bervard straightened out in his seat. Whilst the initial phrase sounded compassionate enough to give him hope, his mind ground to a halt hearing the last bit. "What do you mean... future?"

Kell simply rolled his eyes and dryly said, "I know I don't have to give you the definition of the word 'future'. I meant what I said."

"What!? No.. that's... impossible!" In his confounded state, Bervard started marching around the clearing, waving his arms around, "You would just ignore the fact that I'm cursed to be Hircine's mindless murderous puppet? You can't plan on travelling with me! You cannot honestly, and I mean honestly, tell me that this isn't a problem. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you're willing to forgive me for how I attempted to rip you to shreds."

Undeterred, Kell stoically pushed on. "I didn't say it's not a problem. Divines know how much of a risk that poses. But I do not intend on giving you away to the authorities or any fanatical monster hunting clans. I trust you enough after how you saved my life at the last moment."

"If I pose such a risk to you and to-!" Bervard stopped abruptly, processing the last scrap of information. "Saved you? I lunged at you, trying to end your life."

Now Kell's eyebrows betrayed a degree of confusion when he frowned. "Do you have no recollection of what transpired when you turned into a werebear?"

"No I don't aside from mere snippets of memories. And don't change the subject."

Still, Kell seemed unsure of Bervard's words. "Well, the way I remember it- and I don't suffer from an amnesia inducing curse -you're the one who miraculously dragged me into that hole in the wall to keep me safe whilst I was still stuck in my stupor. For which you have my gratitude, by the by."

Letting this sink in, Bervard felt increasingly relieved. Soon, however, weariness seeped in. This had never happened before, as far as he knew. He would always lose all sentience the moment he started turning. One time having ripped out someone's throat before he even grew the bear's muzzle. _'I've had the senses to do that? Am I finally achieving control of it?'_

"So now that we have that sorted, we can make our way to Falkreath."

Bervard watched dumbfounded as the young mage walked off before he realised he was falling behind and set off towards the road. When he caught up, he could ask what had been on his mind for a while now. "How did you find me?"

"Oh that was simple, I just used a spell for detecting all life and combined it with a clairvoyance spell to single you out, which mind you wasn't easy given the distance which you had covered by then. I must say, for someone your size you are quite the runner." _'And you weren't even out of your breath when I caught up with you.'_

"Pft. Cheating."

"Well, not all of us have as good a sense of smell as you."

At that, Bervard winced a little, the taste of blood still hadn't left his mouth nor did his senses become so dull so at to stop him from sniffing out that squirrel in the tree to their left.

"Sorry, that was a tasteless remark on my side." Kell quickly added, seeing what reaction he received. "If you prefer, I'll refrain from bringing this up."

"Please do." came the short, gruff reply.

The two marched onward, the soft grass and moss of the forest carpet giving in to the winding cobble road that took them further into the woods of the Falkreath Hold. The swallows and sparrows chirped in the trees and an arrangment of bugs buzzed tirelessly around them as they walked in silence.

_~~~~~Later in the afternoon~~~~~_

"Well, here we are." Kell announced. "Falkreath city. In a generous employment of that word." True to his words, Falkreath was not a bustling metropolis akin to that of major cities of Skyrim but it was nonetheless a town large enough to successfully maintain it's power over the surrounding lands and inhabitants so as to field a small army in its own right. Even if it was nothing like its warmongering glory days which decimated the Hold's population, allowing untended land to be retaken by the legions of Falkreath pines and aspen trees, it was still a centre of population and commerce. A small wall, nary fifteen feet in height, circumvented the town and the hundred or so buildings in it, with a smidge of huts piling up outside the walls. It seemed to be growing, with more cautious folk seeking refuge from the dangers of a war-torn province. "We'll see each other at the local inn in about half an hour, how does that sound?"

Slightly out of it, Bervard deigned not to respond before his thoughts caught up with the world around him and he stuttered out, "Wha- ah... yeah. Wait, why are we splittin' up?"

"Well I have business with whomever is the local scholar. You can do whatever you needed to do here in the meantime." _'Should I ask what he seeks here or would that be impolite?'_

"Right, erm.. half an hour. Sure." With that he stumbled off to the blacksmith. Having had come here for no reason other than because Mara had deemed he ought to, he had no real excuse to be here, no valid explanation for Kellian. _'Though why would I need to tell him? It ain't like he needs to know everything.'_

He meandered about through the streets of the woodland capital, having to ask for directions several times, each time getting nervous stares. Nothing entirely new, that's how most people saw him; as a danger. They weren't particularly wrong, only for the wrong reasons. He heard the ringing of a smithy among the cacophony of civilisation long before he saw the tradesman's work station. The young apprentice boy manning the bellows gulped so audibly when he saw Bervard, one wouldn't need his hearing to have heard it. But with a semblance of obedience he ran into the shop to get the blacksmith who was very eager to take Bervard's armour and weaponry to have them resharpened and fixed up and have their inner fur lining washed out.

He then trudged off to the clothweaver's. A brunette was a little preoccupied with sewing a handfull of buttons to the sleeve of a lovely crimson tunic and had him wait a few minutes before finally adressing him. He was wearing his last remaining clothes after his better pair had ripped to shreds during his transformation; a pitifully simple formerly-white cotton tunic with sleeves that were laughably short, a pair of trousers that had a hole on the right knee. Even the soles of the shoes he was wearing were so worn out, one could cut them out and have the remainder of the shoe merely cover the top of his feet whilst he walked effectively barefoot. No one would notice the difference.

"Well, well. No wonder you decided to grace me with a visit darling, those rags sure look like they are hanging on their last thread."

Abashed, he held out his ripped clothes, "I know, I kind of lost my better set whilst out on the road."

Taking the scraps from him, her eyes widened once she held them up, "Stendar's mercy, what happened to these!?"

Having practiced this lie beforehand, Bervard could confidently say, "A bear nosed around our camp's supplies. My clothing was a victim of his."

"And you retrieved those? Weren't you scared of the bear?" she asked astonished as she picked out a slim rope with thin colour marking equally spaced out along it's length. She then proceeded to tie it around his chest, or at the very least attempting to but without success. She blushed heavily when she had to ask him to hold the rope's end so that she could walk around him. He was just too broad for her.

"Nah, me and my buddy scared the bear away." he boasted, though there was not a grain of truth to it.

"Why does that not suprise me. It would take a bear to scare a bear, after all. Your wife must be awfully proud."

"Well, to be fair there is no wife in my life." he explained, uncomfortably.

Now the clothmistress started leaning into him, he hand on his chest, exploring the mound of beef beneath the tunic and the thick bush of black hair that protruded out through the collar. "An awful shame that. That a man like you would have had trouble finding a lady to appreciate a man so brave and strong so as to scare a bear."

"No, no, no... Its more of a choice of mine. I travel a lot and can't really settle down." he tried explaining, but the brunette was undeterred.

"Oh you must get awfully lonely," she added in a sultry tone, while stroking his beard before turning around to rummage through a selection of shirts, "how often do you treat yourself with... a break?"

"I don't," he stated bluntly, before adding firmly, "And I'm not in search of any."

A quiet sigh escaped the Nord woman. "Your loss." she pouted. She then chucked him a seemingly large blue woollen shirt and stood there expectantly. When Bervard failed to change, she had to urge him on, saying that he wasn't the first person to change their tops in front of her. Whilst not entirely convinced that her motivations were pure, he saw no harm and proceeded to take off his shirt. Of course his ears picked up on the very tense inhale coming from the lady as he stood bare chested in the middle of the room. Much to his displeasure, he could not put the shirt on, even though it was clearly a large size, he could not fit his head through and it was terribly tight around his gut and chest. Huffing and grumbling he took it back off and chucked it back, the clothweaver's eyes never once leaving him. She bemoaned how she would have to custom sew an abnormally large shirt just for him. She then picked out a pair of dark green trousers which seemed would be a better fit. But when the woman did not turn around, he had to explain awkwardly how he wasn't wearing any undergarments (they too got torn during his turning) so she gave him enough privacy to change into the new pair by facing away.

"Yes, that one fits. I like the colour too." He then started to take off this pair, wanting to put back his own clothes on. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to inform her that he was mid-changing and very much naked below the belt.

The clothweaver, turned back to him, "Green it is then, I'll find an appro- OH MY, DIVINES ARE GRACIOUS!" she exclaimed, wide eyed.

**AN: No, I am not dead, which is something that most authors say but nowadays seems to be a more literal and necessary reassurance. Sorry for the lack of updates, but I'll be getting back to this story. As always, please feel free to review as it really inspires one to write more, knowing you're writing for mroe than just youself. Not to mention criticism would be nice to receive.**


	5. Chapter 5: The Wolf

Chapter 5: The Wolf

Kell's POV

"Yes, Ilinalta Bastion had deteriorated and sunk mostly into the lake over the last couple decades." informed him the librarian.

The rows upon rows of bookshelves, most of them dusty though not for a lack of trying to maintain them, lined the library's hall. Sent all the way from Winterhold, Kell had to say it wasn't anywhere near as impressive as Urag's sacred abode - The Arcanaeum - and most likely didn't hold a substantial collection related to magic but it could not be denied that vast quantities of knowledge were stored in this very room. Each book a tome of its own expertise, some of them thick with pages withering away, others bound in brand new leather covers with stark white papers indicating the books' youth. Fittingly, fewer folks were milling around that would be found at the College and they likely were studying for more mundane professions. Nonetheless, the few books on Skyrim's geography found at the College would not reveal the location of this "Ilinalta Deep" that Nelacar spoke of. Thus, he had to travel all the way to Falkreath in the hopes of diving into local knowledge and on his way picked up Bervard.

"That would explain why its not in College's records. Its a relatiely new change, and it was gradual. Is any of it left whatsoever at this point?" he inquired.

"Oh of course. You can still see the leftovers of the walls and one tower sticking above the water's surface. Its worth noting that it wasn't built entirely on water, but partly so on land." replied the librarian.

"Why build on water at all?"

"Well, it is more readily defensible if the enemy cannot surround it."

Now that was a bit of irony. "Now no one can defend it at all. The water protects it from hopeful inhabitants." he mused. "Anyway, thank you. I'll find my way to it now." And so he left the town's centre of learning and set off towards the local inn. It was long past afternoon and the sky was taking on an indigo hue. Not near sunset yet, but far from mid-day. The town's local inn, or rather its biggest one, is where he would meet Bervard. The tavern itself was one of the largest buildings in sight, with its white plaster walls in between dark wooden beam, the top floors jutting outward and hanging over the road below. It even had some plant life creeping up its surface, though whether it was intentional or whether the owner's couldn't be bothered to remove it as unknown.

Inside was livelier and jollier than one would imagine given the locale's name, The Dead Man's Drink, but there were patrons abound. From the townfolk to travellers be they merchants or strong arms for hire. Despite being further south than most of Skyrim's cities and being aligned with the cosmopolitan Empire, there weren't particularly many outlanders to be seen. _'Perhaps the war is keeping them away?'_ Kell wondered. Nonetheless, almost everyone was drinking and closer to the centre amny Nords gathered around the bards and like a choir sang folk songs merrily. Seeing as Bervard wasn't here yet (there's no way anyone could miss him even in a crowd) Kell went ahead and bought some foood and sat down under the stairs, somewhat away from the cacophony of the inn. There, he could could overhear the Nords on the table nearby talking. Usually, he would ignore other people, but a single word caught his attention before he could focus on his own food.

"They really interrogated a **werewolf**?" asked one.

The latter man looked stronger than his friend, and appeared to be wearing the city guard outfit, sans the helmet. "Yeah, they had to shove him into a pit and the only entrance is made of silver bars so the beast can't escape. Then they had to poke him with silver tipped spears, normal weapons don't harm them as much as they do us."

"But the beast can speak?" his compatriot kept asking.

"Oh no, no!" laughed his friend, "He was in his human form. But he was still reluctant to speak."

"But what did he say?"

The guard grimaced, "I cannot tell you that. We are sworn to keep content of interrogations secret."

_'Not for long you're not.'_ thought Kell. As much as Kell wanted to walk up to the man and get the information out of him, he couldn't risk rasing suspicion. That collegue of his had to go. He got up and sat right next to the two, uninvited, which showed on their displeased faces. "Greetings. I couldn't help but overhear that you were talking about werewolves." He turned to the young man and handed him a handful of coins, "Would you get us some drinks?"

The young lad had no qualms getting free drinks and scurried off, but the guard was of a more tempered attitude. "Maybe you haven't overheard the part where I said I can't talk about the interrogation, or you haven't heard of the Nords' famous tolerance of alcohol, either way, I won't spill any info."

Instead of being deterred, Kell raised his hands in a show of faux surrender and retreat, "But why, I would never! If you cannot talk about what was said in the dungeon then I won't pry. But you can talk about where and when - and how - the werewolf was caught, can you not? Surely, the rumours will reach people's ears anyway so you don't have to keep that hidden."

The guard eyed him carefully. What the short Cyrodillian was saying was true, he supposed. When his friend came back with more drinks, he was accompanied by a mountain of a man whom carried enough food for four.

"Ah Bervard!" said Kell, he clearly recognised the man, "Sit with us. You must hear this, this brave soul and his brothers in arms caught a werewolf."

Bervard's posture immediately straightened out, and from his veritable height he glared down at the guard and asked, "Did you now?" When he sat down the table shook visibly.

"Yes, it was just south of the town. We received a message that a werewolf terrorised a village. It slaughtered a little girl who was helping out at the mill before running off into the woods." explained the guard. Kell's perceptive eyes noticed Bervard bristle at the use of the word "it". But the guard continued, "At first we had no clue on how to track the beast. No one in our squad was a hunter and the local hunter, the prisly little wood elf that he was, turned out to be too much of a coward, unsuprisingly." He drank some of the ale that Kell had graciously funded, though clearly it wasn't having any visible effect. Even with two empty bottles beside him, the man was holding his liqour well. "It was some pure miracle that Sinding, the cursed man, stumbled into us as we were trudging through the forest. He threw himself at our feet confessing and begging us to drag him back. He kept whinging about a cursed ring and how it wasn't his fault or somethin'."

"Fascinating! And a cursed ring? Now that piques a mage's interest; what ring did he speak of?"

But the guard steeled himself at this and spat, "Why, wanna meddle with it, _sorcerer_? It's cursed. That means it should be destroyed, not played with by College pansies. We don't want curses plagueing our town."

Backing down just a little, Kell tried a gentler approach, "No, no. Personally, not a fan of curses either. And I can say that with confidence backed by experience. What I'm curious of-"

"That's enough Kell." Bervard butted in. "He's right, he is, the ring should not interest you. Also, we'ave kept my kinsman here long enough." Both the locals picked up on the que and took the opportunity to leave, niether - especially the guard - wanting to share a table with a magic user.

Bervard's POV

"And just why did you do that?" asked an irritated Kell.

Weary, Bervard replied, "Kell, why did you want to know?"

"Because, maybe I could reverse the curse on the ring to quell transformations. Maybe-"

"The ring already does that."

.

.

.

Cautiously, Kell eyed his companion. Bervard ate his food somberly, without looking back at him. "You know this how?"

With a sigh, Bervard started talking, rather quietly, and explained, "There is only one ring that a wereblooded person would want to wear and blame for their transformations." But given that this was not enough for Kell, he elaborated, "The Ring of Hircine."

~~~~~~~Later that Night~~~~~~~

"Kell, are you out of your mind!?" he breathed out in a loud hush.

The night sky cloaked the two figures well for it was cloudy and the moons and stars would not provide sufficient light to discern their faces. Aside for Bervard, who had no issues seeing in the dark. He stalked right behind his friend, footfalls deceptively silent for a man his size, wanting to steer Kellian away from this madness. The streets were empty and nary a sound permeated the air and any patrolling guard was avoided effortlessly; those torches they carried gave them away from a good distance.

"That's stupid! What do you wanna do? **_Ask_** to be let in?" he continued. But unabated, Kell kept on walking towards the town's keep.

They swerved in between buildings silently as all the inhabitants slept soundly. Kell had no intentionas of putting this matter off until tomorrow. Soon, they found themselves at the foot of a small keep; its front section resembled a manor whilst its hindsides more accurately denoted its function and purpose. As they walked around it, they found a small tower with a reinforced door guarded by a sinlge man. Only once they were up close did he spot the two and demanded they stop.

"We're here to see the werewolf prisoner." Kell stated confidently without a trace of a lie.

"No can do, citizen. I have my orders and was not informed of your visit so I'll have to deny you entry."

_'Surely, you won't barter with the prison guard. Let's just go.'_ thought Bervard.

But Kellian had other plans. He raised his hand slowly and said, "It crucial that we see this prisoner." Only Bervard's supernatural vision could spot the green glimmering mist eminating from Kell's fingers. Similarly, the guard's eyes shone faintly in the dark for a second before they turned back to normal. Watching Kell intently, he waited to see if this... manipulation... would succeed. "We can ensure that fewer such monsters terrorise our land. We just need to get in there."

The guard was mulling it over. His demeanor had changed considerably in a matter of seconds. "Very well, it would seem your matter is of utmost importance to the Hold then. However, be quick." And just like that, the guard let them in. They descended down a flight of stairs to an underground dungeon. Whilst other prisoners were kept in the cells in the tower, above the ground, the absolute scum and monsters were kept in pits. This wasn't the first werewolf to be kept here, nor was it the worst fiend these pits have housed. But the man pacing the pits now, stuck behind bars of a steel and silver alloy was the one they were looking for. Once he caught a whiff of Bervard's scent, he turned to face his visitors, knowing who and what the bigger man truly was.

Yet it was the smaller of the two that raised suspicion. "What do you want?" he asked.

Kell was the first to answer, "Do you have the Ring of Hircine?"

Sinding's face soured at that, "Yes I do." he spat. "And look where it got me!"

"But how?" Bervard whispered so quietly only the fellow wereblood could have heard. "The legends say the Ring helps keep the powers at bay. Its supposed to grant boons to Hircine's champion."

"I know that!" growled Sinding. When he was calm enough, he told them the full story, "I'm not, and never was, Hircine's champion. I caught this affliction when I was working with the Silver Hand. Don't look at me like that," he added seeing Bervard's reaction to the mention of the clan of hunters, "monsters like you and I do nothing but murder. We deserve to be hunted. Surely, you've killed innocents too." Unknowingly, he struck a nerve. Though none knew Bervard's story, it was clear, at least to Kell, that this retort had hurt. "However, I wanted to quell the beast within rather than be killed, so I sought out the coven of Hircine's worshippers in this Hold. Whilst their magicks had previously warned them of Silver Hands, I travelled alone and with my new curse moved right past their wards undetected. Once I stole their Ring, Hircine himself was displeased and had seemingly cursed this." He held up his hand and in the faint shaft of moonlight coming through the bars in the tiny window to his cell, a ring was visible. Ironically made out of silver, it had the shape of a wolf's head as its prima decor.


End file.
